


we'll watch the sky as it fills with light

by tsunderestorm



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Genji, Jesse and Zenyatta travel to Numbani.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same fluffy vein as my most recent short fic, [fancy meetin' you here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9237383) because honestly, all I want for these three is for them to travel the world together and be happy as we all know Genji and Jesse haven't really had a chance to. I loved writing this because it's so...soft.
> 
> listen to [Embers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5si7w3uS9tU) by Owl City which is a song that makes me super happy, and whose lyrics seemed appropriate for a title when I finished this. (I'm really bad at titles.)
> 
> I read [this post](http://edgewatch76.tumblr.com/post/153183586426/genji-having-two-dragons) on tumblr about the headcanon that Genji once had two dragons just like Hanzo and I fell _in love_ with it. I asked for permission to incorporate it here and it's my new favorite heartbreaking, gut-wrenching headcanon.

Their travels have taken them to Numbani, to a hotel more lavish than anything Jesse has ever stayed in. It’s nothing new for Genji, he imagines - after being raised as near-royalty a resort, opulent as it is, still can’t compare to a centuries-old palace. It’s lost on Zenyatta, who doesn’t give a shit what the thread count on the sheets is or the ridiculous amount of room service orders they can place in one day. He likes the city, though; enchanted by the humans and omnics living side by side, commenting on it every chance he gets. Jesse hadn’t given it much thought, but he supposes it is pretty damn cool - and if Zenyatta’s happiness makes Genji smile, face exposed and unashamed as he walks through the city’s busy streets with his visor off, then it’s _damn_ important to Jesse.

They’re climbed out onto the roof of the resort and made a picnic of it. There’s a garden on the baked stone of the rooftop, filled with ferns and bright, colorful flowers and a shallow pool. Jesse has his jeans rolled up, bare feet dangling in the sun-warmed water. Peaceful. When the silence becomes oppressive instead of comforting, Jesse breaks it with conversation.

“So, Genji,” he starts, swinging his legs up and out of the pool and crawling over to where Genji and Zenyatta are, kneeling in front of them so he can watch Genji work. “Does your dragon live in that sword or somethin’? I just realized after all this time I don’t know a damn thing about it.”

“No. The tattoos on our bodies...the designs helped us to call them. To channel them,” Genji explains quietly as he cleans his sword. Quietly, methodically, nimble fingers running the soft, oiled cloth over the blade until it shines. It’s a soothing activity for him, one that he’s been doing since he was young. Even still Jesse remembers nights on the roof at Gibraltar, blood-stained rags piling up beside them, Genji deadly quiet as he cleaned the blade. Not speaking, barely even breathing. Once a soothing activity, now more muscle memory than anything – none of them can remember the last time Genji used his sword. As Jesse watches, Genji raises his gaze and asks “You’ve seen Hanzo, and his elaborate tattoo? His two dragons?”

Jesse has. He’s seen Hanzo, handsome and haughty. Cold. “I remember _your_ tattoo. From here,” he reminisces, reaching out and rubbing Genji’s shoulder, tiptoeing fingers down his arm and over his hip as he sits cross-legged. “To here.”

Genji smiles weakly, a little sad. He’d been so damn proud of that tattoo, more in it for the aesthetic than the tradition: the two dragons coiling across his back and belly, tails twined over his right hip. Jesse can vividly remember kissing every inch of ink-colored skin, remembers once saying he’d kiss every detailed scale and then start all over. That had been a lifetime ago, had been in those few short, blessed months when Genji was their little sleeper agent, when he was feeding Shimada family secrets straight into Blackwatch and Jesse had fallen short, fast and _hard_ for him. Before their lives had changed forever.

“Yes, I bet you do!” Genji teases, lifting his sword so the finely-honed edge glints wickedly in the light like teeth bared at Jesse. “After I was...well, after I lost my body, I had no designs, no direction. I was worried my dragons wouldn’t want me any longer, that I’d shamed them somehow or that maybe they just couldn’t find me...or couldn’t recognize me.”

Genji pauses for a few moments and his posture changes: shoulders low, head hung, and Jesse thinks maybe he’s gone and done it again. Pushed too far, hit a nerve, but Genji sighs and continues levelly, like this is something he’s been waiting to say. He turns to rest his cheek against Jesse’s hand on his shoulder for just a moment, nuzzling his scarred cheek along the calloused skin. Jesse can feel the faintest press of his lips against his palm before it’s gone, before Genji’s focus is back on his sword as he continues his story.

“And...I guess, one of them couldn’t. In a way. He...he died,” Genji says, going quiet at the end, the last two words an almost-inaudible whisper. Jesse catches Zenyatta’s head quirk out of the corner of his eye, watches the omnic watch his student for any signs of distress. “I felt it. Like a part of me had died with him. He gave his life force to keep me alive and now his partner is all that remains.”

Jesse imagines Genji with two dragons: swift as the wind, bodies winding like a river, coiling around the blade of his sword. His protection, his strength, pieces of his soul. Then he imagines losing that, imagines an emptiness like a gaping wound. Like having your heart ripped out of your chest.

“I remember the first time your dragon returned to you,” Zenyatta interjects to break the tense silence, resting a hand on Genji’s right shoulder to mirror Jesse’s on his left. “We were meditating in your room at Nepal, and your spirit called out to him.”

Jesse turns his attention to the omnic and beams. “Oh yeah? Was it amazin’, Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta nods almost imperceptibly, his response more a soft _hmm_ than a movement. “It was, in fact, _amazing_. Truly the affirmation that Genji needed, that his soul was still his enough to call what had once been his closest companion. Truly incredible.”

“Can you call him now?” Jesse asks as he turns back to Genji, all sincerity. Were it anyone else, he bets Genji would probably scoff at them, maybe tell them _hell no_ , his spirit dragon wasn’t a party trick. But Jesse has nothing but love and adoration and good-natured curiosity and his heart almost jumps into his throat when Genji nods. He closes his eyes and lets the energy flow through him. The Iris, or whatever it was Zenyatta thrived on. They’re all silent for what seems like a few very long moments, the sounds of the city going about its day in the streets far beneath the skyscraping hotel a faint hum.

When it happens, Jesse isn’t sure if the heat’s finally gone to his head (again) or if it’s really happening, if there’s really a dragon materializing out of thin air. He’s _gorgeous_ , chartreuse scales and a gleaming aura, energetic and so full of life that it makes his heart ache to see it. He circles once, twice, bounding over Genji’s crossed legs and curling his long, thin body around his arm, nuzzling into his cheek before settling in with his head rested on Genji’s thigh.

“Does he have a name?” Jesse asks, tentatively, his hand clenching and unclenching as it rests on his denim-clad thigh. “Can I pet him? Aw hell, I’m sorry, he’s a spirit dragon, he ain’t a pet…now he ain’t gonna like me none!”

Genji laughs, metallic and grating. Music to Jesse’s ears. “He doesn’t have a name, no. But he likes being pet,” he says, his hand devoid of metal plating gentle as it rests on the dragon’s long snout. “Besides, he’s mine, and there is no universe in which any part of my soul would not love you.”

Jesse’s heart feels warm. Full, but feather-light, so in love he’s aching. Softly, fingers almost shaking, he reaches out over Genji’s lap to where the dragon’s head is resting. His eyes are like polished onyx in rings of emerald, whiskers twitching as he breathes in, out, watching and appraising Jesse’s every move. His hand hovers over the dragon’s head for what feels like forever, half reverent and half scared as hell before the creature raises his head to bump against Jesse’s clammy palm and like a cat, nuzzle into the touch. Genji runs one finger down the dragon’s back and he responds by stretching his neck out to invite scritches under his chin, a long lizard-like tongue flicking out to taste Jesse’s hand.

“Holy shit,” Jesse says, laughing as he goes on to marvel “I’m pettin’ a dragon!”

Genji’s dragon lifts his long, undulating form from the ground beside Genji’s thigh and hesitates for just a second, sizing him up before he scampers up Jesse’s arm. It tickles; his scales are a steady click against the metal of his arm as he curls around it before climbing higher, adopting a place around his shoulders, inconveniently right where his long fingers will tickle Jesse’s ear. He forgets to move for a second, forgets to even breathe, too focused on the way the dragon’s soft underbelly feels against the back of his neck, soothing and warm. The way that Genji’s hazel eyes are shining with tears when he turns to look at him, the way he swears the dragon’s almost purring when he brings his hand up to scritch his chin again. “There’s a good little fella,” Jesse praises.

Moving from his meditative position, Zenyatta floats over to where Jesse’s sitting to lean in close, snout-to-faceplate with the dragon on Jesse’s shoulders. “I understand how it is going to be,” he says, pointing a finger at him that the dragon nips at. “Such a fickle creature.”

Genji laughs, running his fingers up Jesse’s back to tease and tugging on the dragon’s tail where it’s hanging down. He snatches it so quickly that it flicks against Jesse’s cheek and he makes his best, mock-sorry expression. “Sorry, Zenyatta...looks like I’m the dragon whisperer, not you.”

“Ooh, don’t be mad, master!” Genji says, raising himself up to a kneeling position so he can kiss the side of Zenyatta’s head and the way his lights flicker is just about the cutest damn thing - if Jesse had to guess, that’s what he would call a blush.

“Anger is pointless,” Zenyatta says among Genji’s loud laughter, “but the Iris will remember this, spirit creature.”

Jesse falls asleep right there on that rooftop, taking it easy with the best of company. When he wakes up, the sun’s gone down and the city’s come alive below them and when he looks out along the skyline it’s nothing but twinkling lights. There are torches burning around them, lining the edge of the rooftop with light and warmth, the tangy smell of citronella sharp in his nose. Blearily, he looks over to where Genji’s dragon is bounding around with two of Zenyatta’s orbs and it’s hard to tell what’s glowing brighter: the white-hot warmth of the healing energy or the way the torchlight is catching the creature’s scales and making them gleam like magic. A fairy tale, a miracle.

He’s nosing the orbs along the ground, making them roll over and Jesse appreciates the melodic ringing sound it makes when he does it, like a lullaby. Soothing, cheerful. Zenyatta is meditating (or at least, he’s trying to) but Jesse swears he’s focusing his energy and making the ball roll _just_ out of the dragon’s reach the minute he gets close. Playing with him, teasing him for Genji’s amusement. His lover is resting against the omnic’s thin form, head cradled against his shoulder, himself half-asleep in the heavy heat of the night.

He likes this, likes being with them; the boy who stole his heart and the single most good-natured omnic he’s ever met. Moving from place to place doesn’t seem like a necessity, now - more of an adventure. Cleaning his gun is a routine rather than a necessity - looking down at it the old thing seems clunky, ugly. When he looks up Genji has damn near drifted off, eyes closed under the tuft of smooth black falling over his face and Zenyatta is still as a statue, careful not to disturb him.

“Thanks,” Jesse says, even though saying it feels insufficient. He’s never been the best with words - Gabe always used to tell him that. _Quit beating around the bush, boy, spit it out_. He puts a lot of things into the one word, though - thank you for being here, thank you for being so nice to Genji because goddammit, he needs it, thank you for being _you_. He hopes even half of them come across when he looks at the omnic who he’s pretty sure saved the love of his life from a fate worse than death. “For, y’know. Everything.”

Zenyatta nods, the lights on his faceplate flickering in what Jesse’s come to learn is his way of smiling, a quick, bright glow, all nine lit up. Slowly, he’s learning his expressions, his mannerisms.

“It is my pleasure,” Zenyatta says as he curls his fingers, the orb coming back in towards him like he has a gravitational pull, sending the dragon tumbling off his perch it in a huffy tumble. “Genji is an incredible individual.”

“Yeah,” Jesse says. “He really is.”

“As are you, Jesse McCree.”

Jesse pushes one of the orbs Zenyatta left on the ground around in a circle, letting the dragon chase it like a pet cat might chase a toy. His face is burning, he knows, and he’d rather not look like an idiot in front of Genji’s sagely teacher. True praise, honest praise has always made him nervous. “Thank you kindly, Zenyatta.”

Slowly, the omnic clasps Jesse’s resting hand in his and immediately, he feels soothed. Genji’s dragon springs up like a man possessed and hops on top of their clasped hands, heavy and light all at once, running over Zenyatta’s arm to where Genji’s head is resting on his shoulder and coming to rest on the top of his head. It tugs him up sleep, eyelids fluttering like the wings of butterflies Zenyatta loves so much. Slowly, blinking awake, he nudges the dragon off his head and sends it clambering up the metal architecture of Zenyatta’s shoulders, opting for a smooth metal perch rather than Genji’s tuft of messy hair poking out around the synthetic surface of his visor.

“I love you both,” Genji says, reaching his arm out and drawing Jesse in against him. His hat goes tumbling off and out of the corner of his eye he sees the dragon leap off Zenyatta’s head and land in his sweaty hat, curling up inside it like a nest and that’s just about the cutest damn thing. It’s easy to wrap his arms around Genji and Zenyatta, to let his arms slide around their smaller forms and hug them, easy to feel warmer and happier than he’s allowed himself to feel in years. Easy to indulge in the way Zenyatta’s hand rubs his back to soothe at the same time Genji’s fingers clutch in his shirt, to focus on the press of Genji’s lips against his cheek as he whispers “so much,” to remind himself that he has his soulmate and a damn good friend to travel with, now, and the road ain’t so lonely after all.

Life is looking up, finally.


End file.
